


holster, quiver

by ChopLogic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff & Smut & Angst, M/M, because my brain keeps spitting aus and ideas at me, the three major food groups i mean fic groups, theres all sorts of stuff in here i promise, warnings in the chapter descriptions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7192754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChopLogic/pseuds/ChopLogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hello naughty mchanzo shippers welcome to au/random concept drabble hell<br/>I blame the mchanzo Discord server for these sins<br/>also my brain won't shut up about these weird uncles</p>
            </blockquote>





	holster, quiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That one mission where McCree has to be a pole dancer at a sleazy bar.  
> Warning for mentions of alcohol, derogatory language, McCree being a tease, Shimada Suffering™

"See em yet?" McCree's voice was husky and low in the archer's ear as music pounded around him, squeezing his lungs with heavy bass notes.

"No," Hanzo's lips barely moved, just enough to be piced up by his concealed mic. Grey eyes shaded behind sunglasses surveyed the plush chairs and dim alcoves of the bar. With his hair in a loose ponytail and dressed in a navy blue suit with a white business shirt beneath, top few buttons undone to show a flash of pale collarbone, he was hiding in plain sight. McCree on the other hand...

"That's because you're staring at me Hanzo," A dry edge to his voice, the samurai could bet safely that the cowboy was smirking on the other end without even looking towards the stage. His gaze trailed up the other man's body, stopping at the downright salacious smirk the gunslinger wore. A safe bet indeed.

"No I'm not," Too quick to counter, lying boldly. 

Jesse McCree slid his prosthetic down the pole, kneeling down and rolling his hips as his eyes glinted under the brim of his hat. Hairy chest bare and bottom packed into a tiny pair of red shorts with his chaps cinched about his hips, cutting an alluring figure. He didn't blame the samurai for keeping an eye on him. Hanzo heard the soft buzz of a hum, a breath sighed in his concealed earpiece. The throat mic under McCree's red kerchief was  picking up all manner of soft, intimate noises as he ground his hips low, front almost brushing the pole. Hanzo would be lying if they weren't making certain parts of his anatomy stir. 

"Yeah, you really are," With a grin he pulled himself up again, "I can tell even with those shades on," Hanzo Shimada's eyes quickly flitted elsewhere.

The had been rumors of Talon operations along the California coastline, smuggling and traffiking mostly, the base of which seemed to be one of many sleazy clubs chosen off a growing list that the bosses randomly decided to convene at. Happily, the operations had doubled back on one of their haunts and Winston was eager to learn more. Enter one Jesse McCree and one Hanzo Shimada, both agents of the now-underground taskforce called Overwatch.

McCree had a deal of experience with shady gang deals from his time in the Deadlock Gang, he was also the closest, checking in on old safehouses and clearing out any rabble that had tried to take the space for themselves. Hanzo on the other hand had had flown out to meet him, equally (if not moreso,) versed in illicit weapons trade as McCree but perhaps a touch mure subtle than the boisterous cowboy made him the prime candidate for the job. 

Now they couldn't just bust in with arrows notched and revolver drawn, and even two men in nice suits seated at a corner table with a room view would raise an eyebrow. Plus there was always the tactical benefit of the raised stage and the opportunity to rustle up some tips. One thrown together costume and some pressure on the manager later, McCree had taken the stage to dance under the name Roughrider, and to watch.

Hanzo on the other hand was torn between tipping generously and actually doing his job.

"Eyes up Shimada we got new customers," The archer looked to the door, a couple brutish men were at the front, pushing their way through the crowd to make way for a business man with salt and pepper hair. "That must be him, keep watch but not too close,"

"You insult me," Hanzo's reply was dry as he sipped his drink, light and fruity and just enough alcohol to keep up appearances but not dampen his senses. The gentleman took a table two over from Hanzo's own, just close enough to listen in. 

"See anyone else yet?"

"Lemme take a spin," The outlaw took mincing steps around the pole, spurs jingling as he pressed his rear against it (right in Hanzo's line of sight of course,) and bent at the waist to collect offered bills, simultaneously surveying the rest of the room as unknowing patrons bankrolled their little operation. "His client is probably coming later, listen in for a bit,"

"You didn't have to do that you know," flush tinted Hanzo's cheeks as he took another sip. "posing yourself like that,"

"Yes I did, gotta keep up appearances darlin'," Hanzo scoffed and uncrossed his legs, silver prosthetics hidden beneath dark trousers, carefully leaning closer to the businessman's table. He strained to hear over the thudding music, barely catching what was said.

" _...Can't believe it, they used to have nice girls here and now what, were stuck with Clint Eastwood?_ " one of the brutes was talking to the other, the businessman said nothing.

" _Dancers have night's off too I guess, he's a benchwarmer for like bachelorettes n' shit_ ,"

" _Pfft, why drag him out tonight? This ain't no faggot bar_ ,"

Hanzo leaned back as quickly as he could while appearing nonchalant, muttering a few choice words in Japanese.

"I don't like them already," Hanzo's tone was sour, jaw tense.

"No one but criminals like criminals, and even then that's rare," came the soft reply.

"They're criticizing your.. Performance with uncouth, derogatory terms,"

The cowboy didn't reply, the samurai looked up to see him smiling in his direction, hands clasped behind his head on the pole. Slowly his glinting left left the pole, sliding down his body before brushing the edge of the holster. he curled his fingers into a gun shape and mouthed a _ka-pow_ noise, firing at Hanzo before blowing the tips of his fingers with a wink. A delicate part of Hanzo's anatomy throbbed in reply.

"You're so cute when you get ruffled about my honour," 

The archer didn't reply, instead he busied himself with knocking back more of his drink to hide the blush which was probably incandescent at this point. He glared at the businessman's table again, brow cocking above the rim of his sunglasses as he saw a cook (a fat, bald man with all manner of dark tattoos up his thick arms dressed in a grimy apron,) from the bar's small kitchen had slid into the seat beside the man with the salt-and-pepper beard. He leaned in again.

" _...Fifty thousand, no less,_ " His voice was a low, grating drawl, " _Either you pony up or I'm not gonna stash for you no more_ ,"

" _Be reasonable_ ," The businessman's tone was clipped, upset but doing his best to hide it, " _The highest I'll pay is thirty five thousand_ ,"

" _No fuckin' deal then_ ,"

" _Either you take what's offered or we find a more reasonable man to replace you_ ,"

" _What, gonna replace me with a fuckin' Omnic or somethin'?_ " Hanzo could see the vein pulse along the cook's temple, fists clenching on the tabletop, " _Good luck keeping this place as a cover if you replace the staff with scrap metal_ ,"

" _Fine, we will reconsider our offer and we will be in touch Mr. Borros,_ " The cook was dismissed, grumbling curses as he slid out of the seat and stomped back into the kitchen. The businessman stayed where he was, waving down a waitress and ordering something for himself with a tired look on his face.

"Any leads? I'm getting mighty tired of gyratin' up here,"

"They seem to be holding weapons at the bars, stashing them out of sight between trades," Hanzo replied, finishing his drink. "And a name to check on, may lead us somewhere,"

"Pfft, as if seedy clubs are the most bulletproof cover for illegal gun trade," the outlaw scoffed.

"I sense irony somewhere in that statement," Hanzo couldnt keep a little smile off his lips as McCree chuckled in his earpiece, the sound low and throaty. 

"We done here then?"

"More or less," Hanzo straightened his suit jacket, preparing to leave.

"Hmm, maybe.." the gunslinger's words made him pause, leaning back into the plush seat as his eyes flicked to the stage. McCree had vanished, replaced with a scantily clad girl. A few appreciative hoots came from the businessman's table. The music changed and the soft jingle of spurs drew Hanzo's attention to the near-naked Jesse McCree that was swaggering his way.

"Lookin' lonely there honey, care t'buy a dance?" He played up the drawl, smirking and winking as his thumbs hitched to either side of his shining belt buckle. The samurai flushed darkly, fingers dipping into a coat pocket to produce a wallet as slowly as he could to keep the act believable. Part of him couldn't believe what he was doing, the other part whooped at the chance to have Jesse in his lap for a moment after he had spent the night too far out of reach.

"How much would fifty buy me?" He offered the folded bill between the tips of two fingers, McCree plucked it away with a smirk.

"Almost everything but touchin', sweetness," The bill was tucked into a holster and soon Hanzo Shiamada's view was narrowed to a broad chest with a patch of chestnut brown hair and slow rolling hips that barely brushed the cowboy's bracketed thighs against his own. McCree's right hand gripped the back of the seat as he knelt onto the cushion, a cool metal finger tracing along the edge of Hanzo's jaw before trailing down his neck and bobbing as Hanzo swallowed thickly.

"McCree," Hanzo breathed, encouragement and a warning in a single word. Flint grey eyes bored into earth brown ones, never daring to break eye-contact.

"Aren't you the prettiest thing, flushed all over like you're embarrassed," the gunslinger pouted comically, "Is my dancing that bad?" The cool finger traced lower, nudging Hanzo's collar open to play along his collarbones. The hand roved lower, palming over his chest that rose and fell in deep breaths to keep what remained of his composure. Fingertips glided over his abs, relishing the tense dips as the archer held back leaning against the touch. 

" _Jesse_ ," More of a warning now, the outlaw smirked and continued anyways, giving the frustrated samurai his money's worth. The archer's pulse throbbed with the music, doubling as McCree slid his hands down his hips and over his thighs, pointedly avoiding the growing outline in Hanzo's pants. (One part drink and one part frustration had wrought havoc on his control, Jesse's smirk and light touches were not aiding matters.)

"Just ready to _burst,_ aintcha boss," He was between Hanzo's legs now, hands light on his knees as he opened his hips wide, showing himself off. "Mmh, bet'cher loud when you go off too, real firecracker," He leaned in a little, cheek grazing against his knee for just a moment, tongue laving his lips like a hungry dog. He chuckled low when he saw the outline between Hanzo's hips throb. Thankfully he didn't stay there long, he slid right back up, all fluid hips and roving hands that framed his assets. Palms glided from hips up over his pecs, stroking through his chest hair and over raised nipples. He leaned in close, foreheads nearly touching as their hot breaths intermingled. His eyes were a dark, liquid brown under the brim of his hat, all predatory want.

"I see ya," McCree's voice was barely a whisper, a hot breath that enticed the samurai to close the gap and kiss the gunslinger senseless, "When we get out of here I'll let you touch everything, give you your own private, no-rules dance,"

"Then I would highly advise you hurry up so we can leave," He was whining but he didn't care, he wanted with his whole body but this was not the time nor place, McCree smirked, winked, and backed away. Out of the corner of his eye the archer could see the brutes of the next table over glaring, slightly repulsed, he scoffed.

"Thank you kindly, have yerself a good night," Jesse tipped his hat and swaggered off to entertain other tables. Hanzo was left to scrape together what remained of his self control to make it through the rest of the night. He started with flagging down a passing waitress and ordering himself a number of shots.


End file.
